That Tosser Harry Potter
by onhiatusbutfeelfreetofavorite
Summary: "Eleven. That's when I get off. You can tell me all about that tosser Harry Potter." In HBP, if Dumbledore hadn't shown up when he did, what might have happened with Harry and the pretty waitress from the subway station.


He wanders the station, passing up and over trains, boarding them, getting off before they leave. There's nothing really for him to do here, but it helps pass the time. The trains drown out the voices in his head.

Harry carries his paper folded under his arm, but doesn't bother reading. Half the articles are about him, the other half about Voldemort. It's silly, how easily the Daily Prophet changed sides once Fudge resigned. Now everyone can be afraid of Voldemort in peace and harmony.

The bells clang eleven times in the distance, and from across the train tracks, he sees that waitress girl leaving the cafe. She looks around a few times, as if trying to find him.

"Hey!" Harry raises a hand in a half-wave, and she returns it with a smile.

Then he takes to the stairs, crossing over the tracks to find his date.

She's a few inches taller than him, but isn't everyone? Even Hermione is surpassing him now, and Ginny.

Ginny...

"Hi," she breathes.

"Hi. Um, so..."

"Do you want to..."

They stand awkwardly for a moment. What is he supposed to say, _I need someone to distract me from the evil overlord threatening to kill me at any moment_? No, that won't work. Something normal. What would a Muggle do?

"What's your name?" he asks.

"Becka. You?"

Blast. He didn't think of what he'd say to that. And she's already talked to him about Harry Potter. "Uh, Dean. Dean Thomas."

"Dean. It's nice to meet you. And, um, I'm sorry, but how old are you?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"It's just, I've gotten in trouble before, everyone thinks I'm older than I really am... I'm seventeen."

"Sixteen." He doesn't bother to mention that he turned sixteen yesterday, but it's not like it really matters. She's just one night, right? Soon he'll be off at Hogwarts. Maybe this year he'll fall in love with someone who _doesn't_ betray him to Umbridge.

"Well, cool, then. Do you... want to..." She trails off, thinking for a moment. "Go for coffee?"

He looks behind her, at the cafe from which they both just came. "Uh, you do realize we're standing in front of your cafe?"

Becka turns, sees her own forgetfulness, and laughs. "Perfect."

"But isn't it closed?"

"Whatever."

The door, somehow, is still open. They sneak in, and she goes off to turn on the lights.

"This is quite the date," he calls after her.

"I'm sorry, were you looking for something a little more high-class? You're the one who came in here in the first place."

The lights flicker above them, flooding the little cafe with bluish white light.

"Why do you sit around the station anyway? I've seen you here quite often."

"I don't have anywhere to be."

"Surely you must have some friends, some extracurricular activities."

Harry sighs. She's definitely hit the nail on the head. He'd so much rather be with the Order, hunting down Voldemort, maybe with Ron and Hermione. It's a scary thought, of course, but he's ready to find and kill Bellatrix. Not to mention how boring it is at Privet Drive.

Dudley's been better lately, but that doesn't make it bearable. He's only gotten a few spare letters from friends, and the monthly news, to keep him busy. And since he's still underage, no magic either.

She comes to sit down with him at the bar. "Dyu want a drink or something?" He shakes his head.

"Well, all right, I'll go put on a pot of coffee for myself."

Becka tries the door to the kitchen, only to find it locked. "Drat! And I really could have used a cup of coffee. You don't know how to pick locks by any chance, do you?"

Could he... It's one of the first spells he learned, of course, from Hermione in their first year. Hopefully there won't be a three-headed dog behind this locked door.

God, he misses magic.

He could probably cast a quick spell without her knowing. And with such an unimportant spell, the Ministry probably won't care either. Of course, this is Harry Potter. And everybody cares what he does. But maybe he could get away with it, for the sake of a pretty girl.

That'll be a good defense in court, he reminds himself. I was doing it to impress a girl, he'll say. Not even Dumbledore will come to his defense with that.

"Here, let me give it a try."

He comes over to the door, reaching reflexively into his back pocket where he keeps the phoenix feather wand.

"What are you doing?"

"Go over there and close your eyes. It's a secret."

She does has he says. "Ooh, I like this. You're very mysterious, Dean Thomas. With your talking newspaper and lock-picking skills."

Under his breath, he whispers, "Alohomora," and the lock clicks open.

When Becka opens her eyes to see his handiwork, her face lights up. "What did you do? That's the cleanest job I've ever seen. Just like magic!"

_If only you knew._

She sets a pot of coffee on, and then they sit down at the counter together.

"You sure I can't get you anything? Maybe a pastry?"

He smiles. "Even when you're off your shift, you're still a waitress."

"So what do you do, you know, for a living? Part-time job or anything?"

_Oh, you know, just saving the world a few times a year._

"I... intern. At a... museum."

"Wow, cool. Do you get to see behind the scenes of exhibits? Setting stuff up?"

"Nah, it's... boring. Yeah. Desk job."

"Oh, bummer."

"How'd you land the night shift at a cafe in the subway station?"

"I don't like it, but it pays nicely. I go to the public upper school around here, but my folks make me pay for most of my expenses. Independence and all that. I haven't seen you around there, where do you go?"

"Boarding school. In Scotland. I go back there in a few weeks."

"Wow, prestigious. What are you, a genius?"

"Nothing like Harry Potter," he remarks with a grin. This is starting to be entertaining, finding new ways to avoid the subject of magic. Becka's a nice girl, so he doesn't like lying to her, but...

"Right. The tosser. What's so special about him?"

"Oh, nothing really. He goes to school with me."

"And he's in the newspaper? He must be famous for some really strange things."

"Yeah, but you probably wouldn't have heard of him. He tries to keep his head low. He's the kind of guy who'd be, I don't know, wandering the subway stations at night."

She grins. "Sounds like my kind of guy. What do you do down here anyway?"

Harry takes out his newspaper and skims through it. "I read, I wander. I think a lot. All my friends live far away, or they have really busy summers. I don't have anything to do."

"Don't your parents ever take you on vacation?"

His parents. "No, they, um..." He barely knows her, he doesn't need to tell her anything. But there's something innocent about this conversation, like he can tell her anything without repercussions. She won't know, she won't care about what it really means. But still... "They're a bit preoccupied. I don't see a lot of them."

"That sucks."

"What about you?"

"Oh, stop changing the subject. You're interesting, Dean-" -her use of the fake name makes him wince- "-and I'm not."

"Sure you are. Pretty girl, waitress in the subway station, what's not to like?"

"I don't know. Do you... go around, picking up girls... very often?"

He almost laughs at that. Cho's been his only kiss so far. And this summer... no one's returned the little interest he gives. He's short tempered and unattractively boring to Muggles. To most witches too, actually. Hermione seems to like him. And Ginny. But then, according to Ron, Ginny _liked_ him back in second year. You know, when he saved her life from a giant basilisk.

"Not at all. I dated a girl last year, but it... didn't work out. We're still friends though."

"Oh."

"I bet you get tons of guys in the cafe though."

"Yeah, but I don't usually reciprocate their interest. You're... different."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, I meant it in a good way."

"I know. A lot of people think I'm different in a bad way."

_A lot being like half the wizard population._

At that moment, they're interrupted by a whirring sound outside the door. Harry knows that sound...

The door jingles and in walks Professor Dumbledore.

Harry stands immediately. It's been a while since he's seen the headmaster, and lots have changed. His eyes fix on Dumbledore's right hand, shriveled and black. A spell gone wrong? What...?

"Ah, perfect, Harry, I thought I might find you here."

"Harry?" Becka asks. "Dean, who is this man?"

Ugh. Now everything's going downhill. How can he talk to Dumbledore while still preserving the persona he's made for Becka?

"My dear boy, why on earth is this lovely lady calling you Dean?"

"Uh, Professor, it's a long story, maybe we could just-"

"Dean, what is he doing here? How do you know him?"

"Harry Potter, I need your assistance. I understand that you are otherwise preoccupied, but it is of utmost importance regarding the protection of our school against-"

"All right, look, I'll go with you, I just-"

"Harry Potter? You mean that tosser you were talking about?"

Dumbledore turns to Becka and says the absolutely worst thing possible. "Harry Potter is the boy standing right in front of you and me."

Oh, God. It finally dawns on Becka. She turns to Harry, her expression caught between horrified and murderous. "Oh, no. _This _guy? Dean?"

"Yeah, well, I've got to go now." Harry, as rudely as he's being, starts to shove Dumbledore out the door of the cafe. "Thanks for everything!"

"Dean- I mean Harry- I mean, whatever your name is-"

"Bye!"

"Will I see you again?"

But before Harry can answer, Dumbledore's got a grip on his arm, and they're disapparating away from the cafe, away from his date and a steaming cup of coffee, away from the normal world.


End file.
